The Pantry

In keeping with the theme of my not being a domestic goddess I thought I might gain back some respect by telling you about my pantry.

I adore my pantry & tend to it with such pride that I think even Nigella would approve. It's definitely not as big as I would like but with six shelves on offer, each a good arm's length in depth, it is relatively easy to maintain & can hold enough for our week to week needs.

The top shelf, the most exciting shelf, is home to 'Daddy's snack box', as my children call it, a 20 litre clear box positively brimming with all things little children desire but are seldom allowed to have. There are crisps, crisps, & more crisps, chocolate freckles, the occasional rich biscuit & hubby's all time favourite, chocolate covered raspberry bullets. Also on this shelf are the boys 'naughty' snacks - snacks reserved for creche pick ups where Mummy, who still feels guilty for shunting them off three days a week so she can clear her head, clean her house & possibly do some work (& pays for the experience too) feels the need to treat her poor suffering mites who positively adore their creche days...Wednesday it's crisps (ideally Kangaroo Crisps, Cole's favourite), Thursday it's biscuits (Tiny Teddies, Rumbly Tumblies if Nanna has sent some over from the UK, or Wiggles biscuits - the strawberry & choc chip, never the honey) & Friday is Froggy Friday & the much anticipated dose of chocolate for the week. Please note at this stage my boys are also force fed vegetables, fruit & other healthy necessities - I just believe a little of a not so good thing means they won't be wanting a lot of it as they get older.

The next shelve down is home to the bottles of ketchup, HP Sauce, Dijon & English mustards, a selection of oils, spices, teas, hot chocolate mix, rice (but not risotto rice, something I realised all too late last night as I was set to prepare the promised & much anticipated mushroom & basil risotto for dinner), salt & pepper. A tad boring on paper but all necessities I most certainly could not live without.

Fourth from the top is home to the billions of packets of pastas we posses (OK, so it's probably more along the lines of ten but seriously, how much pasta can one family consume?), mini boxes of sultanas (in easy reach of little arms), mini bags of cranberries (as before), Ikea tubs filled with peanuts, almonds & cashews (separately of course), popcorn kernels, & a variety of different breakfast spreads to accommodate any breakfast request.

The next shelf down, my baking shelf, is much investigated by our two junior chefs in the making, especially the tub that holds the 100s & 1000s. This shelf is home to a variety of flours, baking powder, vanilla essence, nutmeg, cinnamon & friends, patty pans & all the other baking paraphernalia one needs to whip up cup cakes & the like. It is also home to a large biscuits barrel which alas is seldom filled as it is emptied far too quickly.

The next shelf down, & second from the bottom, is the boys' shelf. Like Daddy there is a 20 litre clear plastic tub (with lid) only this one is currently empty. It used to hold all of the boys' snacks for car trips & outings but now remains empty for fear that were it filled our youngest, Cole, would devour the lot & not eat the required meals we insist upon. Also on this shelf are the allowed snacks, ones that the boys may help themselves to should hunger arise. There are saltine crackers, yogurt topped muesli bars, bread sticks & if you pull out the plastic tub & wriggle inside (them, not me), the occasional box of BBQ Shapes or Chicken Drumsticks (assuming Daddy hasn't devoured them the night before). I am aware of the salt content of many of these products but rest assured fresh fruit & cheese is regularly served as an accompaniment.

Finally the bottom shelf which is mere inches from ground level & home to box upon box of breakfast cereal (think Seinfeld only child friendly). There's Nutri-Grain, Cornflakes, Rice Bubbles, Cheerios, Mini Wheats, Weet-Bix & Porridge. Hidden behind these boxes (out of sight but not out of mind), is a box of Coco Pops, a special treat for Sunday mornings & Sunday mornings only!

Perhaps every household is privy to a pantry like this but it's mine & I'm proud of it (dare I admit it...I have been known to open my pantry simply to gaze at it with a sense of satisfaction). Yes, sometimes things are past their used by date & have gone unnoticed, or stocks have not been replenished & are required but unavailable (see risotto rice) but on the whole, if I fail in every other part of the domestic goddessticity at least my pantry is full of things to eat & cook with. My freezer aint too shabby either but that's a whole different story...

Weetbix Toast

I am not a domestic goddess, nor have I ever implied or hinted at such a thing. And don't think for a second that because my husband is such a talented chef I'm good in the kitchen. I'm not. Quite average if we're being honest, though I do love a good pudding... I dabble but with two under five I don't really get much of a chance to cook. Proper cook. I pour through my Nigella and Gordon cookbooks, occasionally choosing a simple recipe, but 9 times out of 10 it's rejected by my little angels so sausages & pasta prevail.

I'm rubbish at cleaning too. In all fairness I find it incredibly dull & therefore don't put my all into it, something I am now regretting as I look at my walls & violently shudder with revolt. Surface cleaning aside if I were to remove the entire contents of our house it would take me at least a week (at least) to get it clean. It's disgusting. Let's put that down to the children too (I mean, Riley was born four weeks after we moved in...). We had a cleaner for a while, lovely woman, but I fear we sent her into early retirement.

So now you know I'm not a great cook or cleaner & I have to admit it I'm not so good at the upkeep either. The washing is always done (&, as our dryer recently died, now hung over every available space) & there's always food of some sort to be consumed, but we regularly run out of bread & sometimes even milk (I'm lactose intolerant so I often don't even notice). Unfortunately both my boys are also lactose intolerant so I have to have lactose free & soy milk on hand (ALWAYS) but when we do run out of bread, at least once a week (& yes, that includes the 'back up' frozen loaf in the freezer) I resort to weetbix toast for a breakfast staple. This was a favourite of mine as a child that my mother would make me as a snack - a weetbix, gently halved, then spread with butter & vegemite (NB: it has to be vegemite. Trust me on this). It's only recently that I've realised that this is not as well known as I'd first thought & several of my friends have been appalled at the idea. I say don't knock it 'til you try it!

And as I pop to the corner shop to buy that loaf of bread I can't help but wonder what back ups other people resort to in their times of need...

That Time Of The Month

Snappy, tender, teary, spotty and fat. Once again that wonderful time is upon me where my mood leans towards the less sane and my appetite towards destruction. Meat is my meal of choice with a chocolate chaser a must. And what better an excuse than that time of the month for a good old vent! Readers be ware because this PMS sufferer is set to blow her top...

Cyclists. You ride on the road therefore you must obey the road rules. A red light means stop for you too and mobiles are a definite no no, especially texting...

Drivers. That intersection near the end of my street on Brunswick Street is an actual intersection. It's not a movie set or there for show. The red light means you need to give way to pedestrians. Get it?

Pedestrians. Don't push the button in peak hour traffic on a pedestrian crossing unless you truly mean to cross. We're already running late so your indecisiveness does not bode well.

Passengers. Give up your seats to the elderly. Don't bury your face in a book. It's embarrassing. Mothers-to-be and those with small children should also receive preferential treatment. It's just the right thing to do.

Children. When I say it's bed time, I mean it's bed time. I don't mean it's time to fart ass around, fuss and then demand another trip to the downstairs potty where you plan to sit and chatterbox for the next thirty minutes. This is not up for negotiation.

Robin. If you want to turn left get into the left lane. Don't leave it 'til the last minute then go on about how bad the other drivers are in front of you because they're not immediately letting you in.

Humph. I actually feel a little better now. Oh, hang on, I have one more...

Nurofen Period Pain Caplets. What a croc. For the price of a pack of 20 you can buy a box regular Nurofen three times the size which will do exactly the same thing to relieve your PMS/PMT - NOTHING!

Much better.

Meat & chocolate await...

Age Is Just A Number

Bollocks. Age is the number & anyone who has ever stated such a thing obviously isn't as old as I am. Not that I'm that old. But old enough...

Age is something that's just kind of crept up on me. Hitting 30 was a bit of a downer, but that aside, I've not minded aging that much. Until now. All of a sudden I'm very aware that the roll I acquired around my midriff after the extraction of my second child is still yet to deflate and instead houses unwanted goods left over from dinners in fancy restaurants and the like.

Formerly the skinny girl (I was named Anna to my then best friend's Rexia - a school yard taunt that used to make me beyond miserable but one that I would now gladly have back) I now have to frequent the gym if I am to lose weight or, despair of all despairs, tone up. Tone up???? I've never had to tone up before. Before now that is.

Age is affecting me in others ways too of course. There's the smile lines that are forever embedded (& isn't it lovely how everyone can see what a happy person I am - NOT) or the fact that what I'd originally thought was a temporary haggard/harassed look from sleep deprivation is actually premature aging brought on by said sleep deprivation!

The other day our pastry chef celebrated his 32nd birthday. My 4 year old, who is obsessed with ages at the moment, was quick to point out that his Mummy was a 3 and a 7. Pastry chef nearly fell over with surprise & I thought, finally, that once so common and since forgotten complement where my age is skimmed back a good 5 years and I'm told that I look nowhere near my age - but alas, it was not so. Instead pastry chef lent in closer & said, 'But isn't Daddy a 3 and a 1?'

Yes, I have done well for myself snagging a younger man & I'm certainly no Demi to his Ashton (though if I had their funds I'm certain I'd look as she does) and yes I am fortunate to have a great group of friends ranging in age from their early 20's to mid 40's but when the younger ones act surprised upon hearing my age (and yes pastry chef, they do still sometimes act surprised) & come out with that little gem, 'age is just a number', I really don't know whether to throttle them or hug them...

Band-Aids

Yep, you read it correctly - Band-Aids. Those Johnson & Johnson brand name adhesive bandages sometimes referred to as plasters that we use to protect wounds from infection. My boys love them. LOVE them. Especially my youngest. He is always covered in them & regularly asked by passers by in a soothing voice if he'd hurt his finger/hand/arm/leg/foot. It's a rare occasion when he's actually using a Band-Aid for its intended purpose.

The history behind Band-Aids is kind of cool. Earle Dickson, a cotton buyer for Johnson & Johnson invented the Band-Aid in 1921 to protect his wife's fingers as she was frequently cutting them whilst preparing food. A head honcho at J&J (enough name dropping, eh) was so impressed he promoted Earle and they started making Band-Aids, initially by hand. They didn't really take off until 1924 when they were machine made and the first decorative Band-Aids didn't come about until 1951 when patriotic stars and stripes and Sesame Street were the rage.

Today Band-Aids come in all sorts of prints with the favourites in our household currently The Wiggles & The Simpsons. Naturally other brands make them too so we have some non Band-Aid brand adhesives with Shrek &, until recently, boxes of Spiderman, Nemo, Pooh Bear & The Incredibles (the latter ones a gift brought back from Canada from some friends whose kids have the same passion for these sticky little numbers).

Thankfully Band-Aids don't seem to have gone up much in price in the last 80 odd years yet Australian's are still managing to spend something like $30 million a year on them - that's a lot of Band-Aid passionate kids, eh?

Vices

Let's be honest, we all have a vice, a guilty pleasure that we know is wrong & yet we continue to indulge in because we enjoy it so. Whether it be drinking, or smoking (or drinking & smoking) these vices, be they big or small, are what get us through our every day lives.

These vices need not be immoral or evil, as the dictionary suggests, nor a particular form of depravity or even a bad habit. Well, maybe a bad habit...

Take my husband for instance. Now he's no angel (wouldn't have married him if he were) but his two main vices (& I'm being 100% honest here) are those British cooking shows they show on the Food Channel and his beloved Playstation 3. Gone are the nights of pacing the floor wondering what state he'll be in when he gets home as I know he's downstairs in a comatose state in front of the telly.

My vice is even more simplistic. Not the dreaded drink for me (though I do enjoy the occasional tipple - OK, more than occasional) instead my vice is reality television. Love it. Especially the American ones - Survivor, The Amazing Race, America's Next Top Model, The Hills; I cannot get enough of them. At the moment I'm savouring the current season of So You Think You Can Dance which hasn't even hit our shores yet. I'm also enjoying Shipwrecked, a UK reality show where a group of young Brits are stranded on an island (or in this case, three islands) with little rations or luxuries. Not as hard going as Survivor (the Americans make the best reality shows by far) but most enjoyable indeed.

Most evenings find me snug in my PJ's on the couch with a low fat snack (yeah right, who am I kidding), a glass of water (uh huh) & hour upon hour of reality bliss.

Thank goodness I'm a hospitality widow or I'd have to be done with my vice & that wouldn't do at all!

Facebook & The One That Got Away

For those of you who aren't familiar with this voyeuristic time waster, Wikipedia (the free online encyclopedia) defines facebook as a social networking website that more than 70 million people world wide visit on a regular basis. Despite being created in 2004, facebook didn't really become big on our shores until 2008 (or maybe that's just me not down with the times...). I openly admit that I am a facebook junkie. Every morning, after checking my emails & while the coffee is brewing I open my account to check the news feed, see if I have any new messages (though I'm normally fore warned of this in my email account) & update my status account. The status account is pure indulgence where you can let all of your facebook friends know whatever you'd like them to know - that you're tired, fed up with work, got lucky last night...as I said, pure indulgence. Then it's on to the requests, today's being a traveler iq challenge invitation & a visual bookshelf invitation, the latter of which has been there for over a month but I'm too lazy to invest the time necessary to set up. You can play games, buy people, have shots, throw things at each other, you name it.

But I digress.

Attached to facebook is friend finder, an application where you can track down old friends & acquaintances who can then become your friend & view your account, & you, in turn, theirs. This is how I've got back in contact with a lot of my friends from my partying days that I had lost contact with after my travels. One of these & the most recent "friend" I've found is my first true love (who will remain nameless to protect all those involved). Former first true love, who I shall refer to as FTL henceforth, was my first serious relationship & made even more important because of the fact that he broke my heart (or at least I thought he did but it turns out, years later, that I wasn't in love with him at all & was far too young to have any idea what love was, I was just an over dramatic young thing). I was devastated when he broke up with me (or at least I thought I was - you get the idea) & always thought of him as the one that got away. I held a torch for him for several years (now I'm showing my age, who says 'held a torch' these days, eh) but life goes on & you all know how well mine turned out. So imagine my surprise when I found him on facebook. At this point I must add that I didn't search for him, he came up as a mutual friend of another friend & the picture was so small I wasn't even 100% sure it was him. I sent a brief message saying something flippant along the lines of 'hey, how are you, long time no anything' which also automatically sent him a friend request. He immediately confirmed (though didn't reply) allowing me full access to his profile. Imagine my surprise when I found that the man I had once held such a torch for (sorry, couldn't help myself) was now a heavily tattooed, pot bellied, balding fisherman with several piercings. Now I have nothing against all these qualities and/or attributes, nothing at all, but this is a far cry from the mild mannered English man I remembered whose only tatt was of the British bulldog (which in retrospect was possibly a good indication of what was to come).

I am incredibly relieved that FTL & I went our separate ways & although it is nice to be "friends" with him again, I doubt we have much in common (if indeed we ever did). But still, it is fun seeing what he's been up to for all these years...